


A Long Time Coming

by Woofemus



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 08:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21012488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: Ingrid takes a few years to realize her feelings while her friends tell her to buy a sword.





	A Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

> takes a break from writing dorothea/ingrid on crimson flower to write dorothea/ingrid on azure moon

“Ingrid, you’re back! Have you heard?” is the first thing she hears when she arrives back in Fhirdiad. She turns her head to find Sylvain running toward her while waving what looks to be a poster in his hands.

This is the last thing Ingrid wants after just getting back from her mission at the dead of the night when even the other horses are asleep, and herself just barely coming out of the stables, no doubt with stray pieces of hay in her hair that she hasn’t caught yet. At least Dedue had gone on ahead to report to Dimitri.

“No, I haven't heard anything but can’t it wait until tomorrow?” She’s trying hard to keep her irritation out. She was expecting to be able to head straight to her quarters and plop onto bed after riding all day. Her muscles are aching and a hot bath sounds nice, but also a bed sounds even nicer.

But, apparently, this doesn’t even slow down Sylvain at all as he shoves the poster in his hands right in front of her face. “The opera is coming to town next week!” and he just sounds so excited about it that Ingrid finds it hard to want to curb his enthusiasm.

Still, she’s tired, and barely able to keep on her feet. She plays along for a bit though, and glances down at the poster, which, from her bleary eyes, all seem like a bunch of blurry shape and words all melding together like a weapon being smelted. She looks back up at Sylvain. “That’s nice,” she says.

Sylvain frowns, staring at her for a moment before he places his hands on her shoulder and shakes her roughly. “There! Are you awake now?”

“Awake enough to throw you over my shoulder if you do that again!” Ingrid slaps his hands off, and Sylvain, already long used to Ingrid’s threats, only beams.

“You’re welcome!” he only answers cheerfully. “So!” With his finger, he gestures animatedly down at one particular spot just under the middle of the poster. Ingrid has to swat his hand away for her to even look since his gauntlet is covering up most of whatever it is he wants her to look at. “The name, read the name!”

Ingrid squints down at it. “Mittelfrank Opera Company?”

… there’s something familiar about that name.

She looks at Sylvain, expression blank. He stares back at her, his eyes gleaming as he waits for her to finally realize. When she only blinks at him, his face falls slightly. “C’mon, Ingrid, you really don’t remember?”

Ingrid shakes her head. Something from their academy days? From school? Something during the war? Where was it that she had heard…

“It’s that opera company that Professor Manuela and Dorothea came from!” he finally says with a flourish of his hands. Ingrid has to take a step back from being hit in the face. He’s just so… excitable, like he’d just been handed the best news in the world, which, for him, is that he’s not being chased by a woman’s father who _might_ just happen to be the general of an army. “Aren’t you excited?! Don’t you know what that means?!”

“That… we’re getting the opera in town?” Ingrid frowns, thinking to herself. “Why are they even coming here anyway?”

“Because I invited them.”

Dimitri and Dedue seemingly arrive from out of nowhere, startling both Ingrid and Sylvain. Oh, Goddess, they’re _still_ in front of the stables, which is hardly the place to have this conversation, much less be seen with the king.

Ingrid immediately straightens out her posture. No slouching in front of the king, even if she catches him frowning disapprovingly at her abrupt change. Even if it’s in the dead of the night, as long as they’re out in the open, she’ll always need to make sure to give him the proper respect, friend or not.

“Really?” Sylvain sounds incredulous.

“Ah… yes.” Dimitri nods, and looks away from them. There’s a sad smile on his face, and they all get the feeling he’s not really paying attention to any of them anymore. “Edelgard had… talked about it often when she was here in the Kingdom. She saw a performance right before she had come, you see, and she said it was the most amazing spectacle she had ever seen. She made several mentions of wanting to see it again when she returned to the Empire.”

He pauses, his voice soft as he continues. “I really hope she was able to.”

Dimitri coughs into a hand afterward, perhaps realizing he’s turned the mood a little too heavy for anyone to comment. “Anyway! I thought that something like this would be nice for Fhirdiad after everything. We don’t often get to see a performance of this sort, do we?”

“Yeah!” Sylvain pumps a fist, his grin returning. “And there’s gonna be tons of classy ladies there!”

Ingrid gives him a sharp look. “Is that honestly all you’re thinking of?”

Sylvain laughs, waving his hand. “Hey, I enjoy the opera too! And, also, you know what?” He turned down to look at her, a grin on his face. “That means Dorothea will be there!”

Something… wholly strange goes through Ingrid in that moment. It’s… uncomfortable, but it also decidedly not _that_ bad? She’s… not sure. But the thought of seeing Dorothea again…

“Hold on, how do you know she rejoined the opera?” Ingrid asks, frowning at him. It’d be better to not get her hopes up. “Could just be a coincidence.”

Sylvain turns to her, blinks at her slowly before he points down at another spot on the poster. Ingrid squints at it and, oh, there Dorothea is. No wonder why that blurry shape seemed maybe just a tiny bit familiar.

“... oh.” Ingrid awkwardly coughs into her hand. “I, well, stand corrected, then.”

“Seriously? I would have thought she was the first thing you would’ve noticed.”

“Sylvain, I’ve been riding all day, I’m _tired_,” Ingrid reminds him, frowning still but also feeling just a little bit guilty that she hadn’t recognized Dorothea either. Even on the poster, with her hair pinned up, a coy smile on her face, dressed in clothes that look far too elegant and frilly than Ingrid’s ever seen before… she would still recognize her.

“Yes, Sylvain, Ingrid and Dedue are most likely tired. We should allow them to get some rest,” Dimitri speaks up, then. “You can talk more about this tomorrow, we’ll also need to prepare for their arrival too.” He turns back to Ingrid, apologetic. “And thank you for coming back, even so late.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she immediately says, a smile on her face as she salutes him. She could never be tired, riding in the service of her Kingdom.

… but a bed does sound nice.

They say their farewells, with Dimitri and Dedue walking away first toward the castle, both Ingrid and Sylvain watching them.

“Please get some rest, Your Majesty,” Ingrid hears Dedue say, and she can hear Dimitri laugh.

“I said that _you_ should get rest, and now you’re telling me—” the rest of their conversation dies out as they walk too far for them to hear.

Which leaves her and Sylvain still standing around the stables. Ingrid doesn’t make a lot of good choices when she’s barely had sleep. She quickly heads off for her quarters in the knights’ hall. Sylvain’s footsteps echo behind her as he keeps up with her.

“So,” he waggles his eyebrows at her, “aren’t you excited to see Dorothea?”

“Of course I am, she’s such a dear friend,” Ingrid says. “I hope you won’t be trying to flirt with her again like you’ve tried all those other times.” She narrows her eyes at him.

Sylvain puts his hands up. “Whoa, whoa! Of course not! But I mean, if she wants to come and say hi to me and maybe do a little more though—”

Ingrid stops where she is to deepen her glare.

“Whoa! I’m just kidding.” He puts his arms behind his head, another grin on his face. “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever had a chance anyway.”

Ingrid sighs, rubbing her temples. “Not that it ever stopped you.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. And I totally know how to back off when I can tell a girl just isn’t interested in me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she mutters.

“I mean, not when that girl’s got eyes for one of my friends instead.”

Ingrid pauses midstep, and looks up at Sylvain. “Really? Who?”

Sylvain stares back at her. “Ingrid, are you kidding me right now?”

Ingrid’s blank look doesn’t change. Sylvain stares back, his eyes wide. He starts to laugh, and when Ingrid’s expression doesn’t change, his laughter slowly dies into something that sounds like sheer disbelief instead.

“Ingrid, you’re being serious right now.”

“I don’t know, what are you even talking about?” Ingrid’s a little too tired and irritable to deal with this right now, but she’s curious as to what has Sylvain acting in such a way.

But, Dorothea interested in someone? In one of their friends?

… is it Felix? Ingrid remembers catching them together once at the training hall. But Felix never mentioned anything, and… well, Ingrid just honestly can’t see it, not with Felix’s abrasiveness and Dorothea’s strong-headedness lashing out at each other. And, of course, it could never be Sylvain, no matter how much paint chipped off his silver tongue. Dimitri, then? No… Dorothea had never really talked about him, nor did she ever remember Dimitri mentioning anything about her beyond her singing, and Dorothea was always more fond of Edelgard than Dimitri.

“You—you just—” and he slaps his cheeks, and Ingrid can’t help but wince because he’s still wearing his armored gauntlets which means that must have hurt a bit, but he only starts laughing again, slowly, and a little… terrifyingly, if Ingrid had to say.

“Sylvain, if something the matter...” Ingrid’s just a little concerned when Sylvain seems to keep laughing.

“It’s you, Ingrid,” Sylvain finally breathes out, and he makes a completely undignified snort like he’s trying to hold back his laughter. “She was always looking at _you._”

Ingrid stares at him again. Her eyes narrow, her brow pushed together in confusion now. “I mean, she is my friend,” she says slowly. Sylvain gives her a look that’s wholly unconvinced, and, well, maybe even Ingrid starts to doubt herself a little bit.

“... really?” Ingrid’s voice sounds uncharacteristically small, still trying to wrap her mind around it. The lines on her brow crease even deeper. “But… she… I…”

Everything starts to flash through her mind in this very instant, of every moment they spent together, of all the lingering touches Dorothea had sometimes given her, of the strange tension that Ingrid felt sometimes when she caught Dorothea staring at her, or the strange darkness that overcame Dorothea’s face sometimes when Ingrid mentioned letters sent to her by suitors.

Ingrid slowly brings a hand to her face as her whole face burns uncomfortably hot, the realization coming to her.

Sylvain pats her back consolingly. “You know, it only took you seven years.”

* * *

Despite feeling dead on her feet and wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed after a quick shower, Ingrid’s still wide awake by the time she settles into bed, staring up at the ceiling as her mind continues to wander.

Dorothea.

When’s the last time she’s seen Dorothea? It… it was…

“After the end of the war,” she voices aloud, blinking. And that’d been… two years ago?

The end of the war…

They had marched to Garreg Mach after the fall of Adrestia. Dimitri had wanted to continue the march to Fhirdiad but they were convinced to stay to celebrate the war. Ingrid doesn’t think she’s ever heard so much noise or seen so much cheer, not even when they had taken Fort Merceus.

There must have been a courier that rushed back to spread the good news, because there was _so much_ food that had already been prepared. And, normally, Ingrid’s mouth would have been watering at the sight of so much delicious food… but the fighting had been draining, much more mentally taxing than she had realized.

Still, though, she joined the celebration, digging into all the available food. If it was there, she was never one to pass it up, but she knew she had eaten less than she normally could. After a while, it’d been too much for her, too much noise, too much cheer, and she needed to hear her inner thoughts again.

She managed to sneak out though it hadn’t been much better, with the summer heat making the hair stick to her skin, and along with the drink she had already taken, still made her feel uncomfortably warm. There wasn’t anyone there, though, so she could breathe.

But that’s when she hears it, the sound of someone’s voice. She had followed that sound, and came upon Dorothea, alone in the gardens, singing. Ingrid had stood there, unable to tear her eyes away as she listened.

Dorothea’s voice, then… it had been… so sad, so lamentful… and…

Tears spring to Ingrid’s eyes as she recalls that song again. She can hardly remember its exact details now, but she remembers its sound, of how striking it’d been… and how mournful Dorothea had been. She had felt every single emotion crashing down upon her, of Dorothea’s regret, of her sadness, of her pain.

What is Dorothea doing now? Ingrid can’t help but think about it. Does she still sing that song?

Ingrid rolls over onto her side, squeezing her eyes shut. Something inside of her is aching, and she doesn't know why. She rolls over again, and her eyes open, seeing a tiny glint of metal—

Oh!

Her hand reaches out, caressing the bangle on her wrist. Dorothea had given it to her, silver and with the wings of a pegasus carved on the inside. The artisanship was amazing, getting the details of the wings perfect, and Ingrid had found herself awed. Ingrid isn’t someone who’d flaunt jewelry, but an accessory as simple as this, she wouldn’t mind. There’s only one other piece of jewelry she has, but it hangs on her neck, tucked deep underneath her layers.

“I would have liked to have given this to you earlier, but now seemed as good a time as any,” Dorothea had told her when she handed her the gift. “What will you be doing now, Ingrid?”

“Most likely return to the Kingdom, return to my family, and… become a knight.” Ingrid had been staring the bracelet, still too awed to realize that Dorothea’s expression was changing.

“I wish you the best of luck, then.” And before Ingrid realized, Dorothea had moved forward and gathered her in her arms, and whispered into her ears. “Goodbye, Ingrid.”

And then… Dorothea was gone.

Now, as Ingrid looks back on it… she should have realized something was strange about that farewell. Dorothea had sounded sad, like they were meeting for one last time. And Ingrid had gotten so caught up in her duties that she hadn’t realized how much time had passed until now.

Sometimes, when Ingrid was out camping at night for one of her missions or when she felt lonely and stared up at the stars at night, she always found herself running her hand over it, thinking and wondering where Dorothea was now.

And when she thinks of being able to see Dorothea soon…

Once again, she’s wide awake, but with anticipation, with excitement. She _wants_ to see Dorothea, wants to see how she’s been, wants to show her that she’s become a knight, that she’s still helping her father manage their land without needing to take a husband, wants to…

There are… so many things she wants to tell Dorothea, and her heart is just fluttering at the thought of being able to see her, of being able to hear her voice again, of being able to see Dorothea and her smile—

… oh.

_... oh._

Why couldn’t she have realized this earlier?

Ingrid brings her hand close and thinks she might be the biggest fool yet.

* * *

The smells of the kitchen are wafting through the air. Ingrid’s mouth is watering and she’s trying hard not to drool. Judging by the way Felix, sitting across from her, can hardly hide his looks of disgust directed her way tells her she’s not doing a very good job of hiding her excitement.

Still, who can blame her? Dedue’s cooking is always such a treat, and it isn’t far an exaggeration to say that it’s some of the best food she’s ever eaten.

“The opera will be arriving into the city in two days,” Sylvain informs them as soon as he arrives, taking the seat next to Ingrid. She pointedly ignores the wink he tries to send her way by pretending to keep her focus on the kitchens ahead of her.

“We still have many preparations to make, but the people are excited for them.” Dimitri smiles, and there’s a tired edge to it, but he also looks… happy, Ingrid thinks.

“Whoo, boy, have you seen how many people are coming? Practically all the Kingdom nobles! Like even Felix here!”

“I am _not_ here by choice,” Felix grounds out. No one believes him.

“So that means, all their daughters!” Sylvain continues. Everyone stares at him. Ingrid takes his arm, digging her fingers into him.

“Behave yourself, Sylvain. I refuse to have to also clean up your messes.”

“Sheesh! I’ll be good! And besides,” he shakes his arm free to sling it around her, “you’ve gotta chase after the star of the show, right?”

If Ingrid were eating food, this would undoubtedly be where she’d choke on her food and spit it out. As it is, she has no food, so she chokes on the air instead. Sylvain’s hand patting her back doesn’t make her feel any better. She glares at him even though she knows she looks like a mess, a blush on her face from both anger and embarrassment.

She’s saved by Sylvain’s further teasing by Dedue announcing food is ready. She leaps from her seat to help him, all too ready to be away from Sylvain, even for only a little bit of time.

… not that it works because the moment everyone is seated and digging into their food does he start up again.

“Anyway.” Sylvain points his spoon at her. “_You_ need some help.”

“Sylvain, it’s rude to point your spoon at someone,” Ingrid scolds reflexively. He doesn’t say anything, but he drops his spoon back down into his stew. “And I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she mutters afterward. “Why do you have to bring this up?”

She’s hardly been able to figure out her own feelings just recently, and the last thing she wants to do right now is to talk it out between everyone else. Felix is wholly uninterested, and Dimitri’s curious, while Dedue is… well, impenetrable as always, but always listening, she knows that.

“Because you’re just as bad as His Majesty here,” answers Sylvain as easily as if he were talking about the weather outside. Dimitri chokes on his food. Felix scowls and inches both himself and his bowl away from Dimitri.

“Who did you give a dagger to?” Dimitri asks afterward, his voice still hoarse. Dedue subtly nudges a cup of water toward him.

Sylvain flashes a grin. “Just talking about Dorothea.”

“Ah.” Dimitri nods. “Yes. You two were close during the war, right?”

“I, ah, yes, we were friends,” she answers quickly, ignoring Sylvain’s snickering.

“Then I’m glad I invited them. You should always cherish your friends. There’s no telling when they might…” and he trails off, realizing what he’s about to say.

“Yeah, like what if she’s,” and here, Sylvain lowers his voice to whisper, “_married?_”

Ingrid elbows his side.

“Ow!”

… but it bothers her more than she wants to admit. It _has_ been two years, the chances of Dorothea having found someone are… rather high. There’s many things that can happen in one year, much less two!

The thought unsettles her.

“Okay, _fine_, what do you think I should do?” she finally says, muttering so maybe she can pretend Sylvain doesn’t hear her. Except he does, and he’s got the biggest grin on his face right now.

“Get her a nice gift.”

“Like what?”

“A sword,” Felix immediately says.

“A sword,” Dimitri also says.

“Please do not get her a sword.” Dedue looks at the other two and though his expression barely changes, Dimitri ducks his head with a sheepish smile while Felix scowls as he looks away and mutters under his breath.

Ingrid puts down her spoon, thinking to herself. “Wait, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

Dedue closes his eyes and sighs.

* * *

Nervous isn’t the word Ingrid would use to describe herself right now.

Well, it would be, but… that’s not quite accurate. There's like a strange knot inside, and it's filled with both nervous excitement and uneasiness. She’s… nervous from, well, everything, it feels like.

"You're going to tear that armrest from the chair if you keep holding it like that," Felix leans over to mutter. Ingrid blinks, and realizes she'd been gripping it tightly. Slowly, she releases her hold and lets out a breath as well.

The crowd is chattering to themselves as they wait for the show. It’s been a long time since they’ve had this sort of entertainment, and Dimitri had also made sure that anyone could come see. From where she’s sitting on one of the side balconies, she can see children seated below, and some even running around, too restless even in their nice clothes.

The sight makes Ingrid smile to herself. She’d been to the opera once, when she was visiting Fhirdiad with her father to see Lord Rodrigue and… Glenn, for the very first time.

She fidgeted restlessly in her seat then. Adventurous and so full of energy, Ingrid wanted to be one of those children running all around, but her father had told her to behave. She was here to meet her future husband, and he wouldn’t want to marry her if he saw her dress all dirty and torn, and who was she to disobey her father?

The lights start to dim. All the noise starts to die down. The curtains start to rise. A violin begins to play before the rest of the orchestra joins in.

Then, Dorothea comes onto the stage.

Ingrid’s breath catches.

Just like the poster, her hair is pinned up instead of loose over her back as Ingrid remembers her best. She looks… far different, and makes Ingrid feel as if she’s seeing a completely different side of Dorothea.

Dorothea’s singing is just as captivating as she’s remembered it. No, that’s not it—it sounds even better. Right now, she’s singing powerfully, a love song that talks about triumphing over all obstacles to be with the one she desires, of waiting for her love through the years for his attention and affections. Her voice echoes throughout the hall, and Ingrid swears she can hear it almost everywhere at once as if it’s surrounding her, drowning her in its sound, in its emotion, in its intensity.

This is Dorothea the songstress, Dorothea the performer, Dorothea the diva.

And Ingrid is taken all the same.

Her eyes are always trained on Dorothea every time she appears on stage, eyes following every motion. Dorothea is singing another aria, and Ingrid can see her eyes sweeping over the crowd—

And then it’s as if Dorothea looks up and happens to see _her._ Ingrid is transfixed, unable to look away, as if Dorothea has cast a spell over her with only her eyes and voice. Dorothea continues to look at her, and Ingrid can feel her mouth going dry—

No, of course not, that’s impossible, Dorothea is only staring in this direction. It’s where Dimitri, and the rest of their friends are sitting. And Dorothea’s gaze sweeps away, to stare back out at the crowd before her.

But Ingrid’s heart doesn’t stop pounding.

So absorbed and utterly mesmerized that she doesn’t even realize the curtains are falling and people are rising to their feet to clap. She hurriedly scrambles upward, eyes wide as she stares back down. When the curtains rise again and all the singers and actors come back to take a stand and bow toward them, Ingrid’s eyes inevitably wander over to Dorothea, standing right in the middle of everyone as the star of the show.

They exit the hall, out into the main lobby where everyone’s excitedly chattering now.

“Dorothea was amazing, wasn’t she?” Annette is gushing, her hands on her face as she sighs. “She did a performance once during school but that doesn’t compare to _this_, when she’s got a real troupe with her!”

“Amazing,” Ingrid murmurs, too distracted to realize the way Annette and Mercedes trading looks and coy smiles with each other.

There’s a sudden gasp in the crowd, and Ingrid realizes why, when she sees Dorothea and the other actors come into the lobby. The crowd swarms for Dorothea, instantly surrounding her and pushing gifts into her hands. Through it all, Dorothea is smiling, but Ingrid knows it’s a polite smile as she thanks everyone.

Just as Ingrid thinks about looking away, Dorothea looks straight at her. Then, it’s as if a change comes over her, the smile on Dorothea’s turning into something gentler, something… more genuine than what she’s showing to everyone else right now, her eyes crinkled.

Dorothea hands her gifts off to someone next to her, an assistant from the looks of it, and tries to excuse her way through the crowd. Out of the corner of Ingrid’s eye, she can see Sylvain nudge Dimitri, and he quickly nods before walking forward to meet Dorothea, the crowd parting around him to allow him through.

“Dorothea!” he greets with a smile, “what a wonderful performance that was! I don’t think I’ve ever heard such superb singing before.”

“Oh, Your Majesty! You flatter me,” Dorothea says, slightly breathless. Her eyes look over everyone, and Ingrid tries not to think anything of it when it feels like her eyes linger on her for just a little bit longer before she speaks again. “What a surprise, though! I wasn’t expecting everyone, and you, to come!”

“I invited you, would it not be rude to show up?” Dimitri says with a wry smile.

“I suppose so,” Dorothea answers with her own smile.

She goes to greet the rest of them, Sylvain enthusiastic while Felix just _barely_ makes something that resembles a smile, and Ingrid still can’t find it in herself to move forward. She can’t do this, she wants to run away, she can’t—

But Annette and Mercedes take both of her arms and help her move forward. She’s thankful, but also cursing them, though she can’t think about that when Dorothea turns to her.

“Oh!”

Dorothea looks as stunning as always. Make-up has never been one of Ingrid’s fortes (and interests too, for that matter), and it always makes her all the more amazed when she sees how Dorothea uses her make-up to accentuate her beauty that’s already there. Ingrid has been to one too many royal balls recently and seen how the women paste it all over their faces to their own detriment.

“Ingrid, Mercedes, and Annette,” Dorothea says, her voice warm as she speaks to them, “I’m so glad to see you three.”

Annette and Mercedes say something, but Ingrid feels as if something’s stuck on her tongue. The other three look at her expectantly, and Ingrid quickly remembers herself.

“D-Dorothea!” Oh, her voice is a little breathless, that’s not good. She awkwardly hands out the bouquet of flowers she’d been holding. “Oh, um, here. This is from all of us, including Ashe, though he’s not here in the capital right now.”

“Oh, these are so beautiful!” Unlike how how she took all those other bouquets, Dorothea takes this one with care, even lowering her head to smell them. “I’ll make sure to keep these ones in a vase in my dressing room.”

“I’m… ah, happy to know you enjoy them.” Ingrid’s hands are twitching now, suddenly feeling empty without the bouquet. Maybe she should have gotten that sword after all. Swords are always nice, Ingrid would’ve been happy herself with getting one, they’re useful, and—

Dorothea looks her up and down. “You look wonderful, by the way.”

“Oh, no.” Ingrid quickly laughs and waves a hand, trying her hardest not to blush. “Annette and Mercedes helped me. Came barging into my room and told me they were going to help dress me up.”

“Well, they did a very good job,” Dorothea says, and Ingrid wonders why she’s talking as if they’re not there—oh, Annette and Mercedes aren’t next to her. Where did they even go? But she feels… conscious of herself now, and of the gaze Dorothea is giving her.

“You, ah, were amazing, too,” Ingrid remembers to add. “Everything was incredible! That performance was… it was wonderful. I… I was…” and Ingrid loses her words. They all feel inadequate, to what she wants to say.

But thankfully, Dorothea understands. “Thank you,” she says, her voice slightly quiet that Ingrid can almost hardly hear her above the noise of the crowd around them. Ingrid looks at her, and there’s something glittering in Dorothea’s eyes, and there’s just something about this moment, and, oh, Ingrid’s frozen on the spot.

“Dorothea—”

But someone shoves another bouquet of flowers in front of Dorothea, and then the crowd comes rushing back in, and Ingrid finds herself pushed away from Dorothea now. All she can do now is watch as her fans crowd her, and Dorothea smile at all of them, thanking them all for coming to see the show.

Dorothea is closer than ever, but Ingrid also thinks she couldn’t be even further away than in this moment.

* * *

The air is cool on Ingrid’s skin as she soars through the air. Flying has always helped her, has always helped clear her mind of unnecessary distractions, has always made her feel… free.

When the wind rushes past her, she feels the exhilaration surging through her blood, the beat of her heart drumming her ears, and when she sees the far and endless horizon of the sky… there’s no better sight in the world, she thinks. Up here, with only the clouds and birds for her company, when everyone and everything on the ground seem far smaller than she knows they are… she can focus.

Except, well, her thoughts always inevitably go back to one topic.

The opera is still here though Ingrid’s barely found time to head back there. With so many people in the capital, security needs to be increased, and Ingrid volunteers herself to help patrol. There’s always work to be done. Two days have gone by since then, and Ingrid feels… it would be awkward to go back there.

But Ingrid knows she’s only making excuses. It feels cruel, to keep herself in the sky where she knows Dorothea cannot reach. Dorothea isn't one of her suitors, isn't one of her marriage proposals, and yet, Ingrid can't help but approach her like it is, her first instinct being to run away.

Ingrid doesn’t understand the first thing about love, really. She had Glenn, but first and foremost, he had always been the most noble and ideal knight to her. Did she love him? Or did she love what he embodied? She doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to figure that out even when she wears his ring as a memento on her neck. It feels like another part of her already.

But with Dorothea, it’s… it’s different. Very different, Ingrid thinks. Even now, the thought of her makes Ingrid’s heart beat in a different way than the thrill of soaring through the sky. She wants to see her, wants to reach out to her, wants to see her smile—

And it also makes her paralyzed, makes her afraid, makes her…

Sylvain had said that it was her that had Dorothea’s eyes, but it’s been years, with Ingrid all the oblivious. Surely, Dorothea is tired of waiting, and she’s given up… surely, Dorothea wouldn’t have held onto a barely flickering flame for someone so unaware.

Surely, just when Ingrid has finally worked through her own feelings, Dorothea has already given up, because it sounds too good to be true.

“Dame Ingrid!”

A group of pegasus knights have flown up to her, saluting her. “We’re here to take over your patrol.”

Ingrid nods though she wishes she could stay in the air for longer. She’d already been at it since the morning, and her pegasus needs rest as well. “Yes, thank you. I’ll leave it in your hands,” and descends to the stables.

The air on the ground is still cold, but it is much warmer than being up in the sky. Already, she can feel the warmth rushing to her cheeks, the blood returning to her fingers. Faerghus is always cold and Ingrid has long grown used to it, but being in the sky brings a stronger sting of the winds and frost.

Ingrid’s pace is brisk as she makes her way through the city. She sees the large crowd shuffling outside of the auditorium where the opera is. With it being this late… it means a performance must have just ended. A small smile comes to Ingrid before she looks ahead of her—

Except Felix suddenly stands in front of her, a tight hand on her arm.

“Felix!” Ingrid is too startled to really protest his hold. “What are you doing here—what are you even doing?”

“Come,” he only says gruffly, and leads her to the auditorium. “I’m repaying a favor.”

“Felix! Can you at least—Felix!” Ingrid grinds her boots down, and breathes out deeply. “Okay, fine, I can walk, you don’t have to hold onto me.”

He lets go and walks away again. Ingrid rushes to catch up with him. She’s conscious of all the stares on them as they move through the crowd, the only ones dressed in their armor and decidedly not of the clothes fit for the opera.

Felix leads her through the backstage, far beyond the crowd. Ingrid can see how some of the people there stop and look as if they want to protest, but Felix walks with such purpose that it makes him feel as if he’s meant to be there. And, well, who would challenge Felix when he’s always got his glower on?

Except when Felix brings her into another hallway and he pauses for a slight second longer than Ingrid expected him to...

“... Felix, are you lost?” she chances asking.

“_No_,” he immediately says. Ingrid stares at him, and he scowls. Someone happens to run by in that moment, and Felix whirls on him.

“You! Where is Dorothea’s room?” he barks. Terrified, the assistant, from what Ingrid can tell from his plain clothes, shakily points in a direction, and Felix gruffly thanks him.

“... why are you doing this, anyway, Felix?” Ingrid asks as they continue walking.

“A favor.” He grunts. “She saved my life during Fort Merceus and I told her I owed her but she said she didn’t want anything. I didn’t think she’d collect this way,” he finishes under his breath.

They arrive at a door that looks like every other door but somehow, they both just know. He knocks, and then quickly looks inside and just as quickly comes leans back out. He shoots a look at her. “Whatever you do is none of my business.”

But she sees it, how his gaze, always so harsh and only tempered into a hardness that’s stronger than silver, softens for just a moment. “But stop running away and look at what’s in front of you. And I told you you should have gotten a sword.”

And then without any other word, he opens the door and shoves her inside.

Dorothea is sitting down in front of her dresser, a large mirror in front of her, and their eyes meet on the glass.

“Ingrid,” Dorothea greets, and Ingrid can see in the mirror Dorothea’s lips curving into a smile. “I’m happy to see you.”

“Dorothea,” Ingrid greets, wincing when her voice sounds a little breathless. “I, ah, Felix brought me here.”

“Well! I’m glad he listened.” Dorothea laughs a little. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just finished the show, I’m undoing my hair now.”

“O-oh, right, yes, of course, go ahead.” Ingrid tries to look all around but her eyes fall back on the mirror again, finding Dorothea watching her.

“... would you like to help me, Ingrid?”

Ingrid must look surprised; she can see herself in the mirror. Dorothea laughs again, and looks as if she’s about to wave it off as a joke but Ingrid quickly nods, striding across the room until she’s behind her. Dorothea is the one who looks surprised, but she manages to hide it faster than Ingrid. “Just help me pull out the pins please,” she murmurs, and Ingrid obeys.

There’s a lot of them. Ingrid wonders if it must be heavy, and then to sing and perform while looking pristine! And to do this for hours, and for days…

“I didn’t get to ask you last time, Ingrid, but how have you been?” Dorothea speaks, her voice soft. She’s taking off some of her more elaborate accessories that are on her. Those look heavy as well. Ingrid wonders if she does this by herself or if there’s someone that usually helps her.

“Good,” Ingrid answers. “I’ve been helping the city with patrolling. I just finished when I ran into Felix.”

“Oh?” A corner of Dorothea’s lips curls up. “When I stepped out for a bit, I’d see you flying in the sky. I was always wondering what you were doing.”

“You… you did?” Ingrid can’t help but blush slightly. Admittedly, she’d been lost in thought while flying, and it never occurred to her that Dorothea could see her.

“I did. Up there in the sky on your pegasus, clad in your armor, wearing such a serious look… just like the knight I always thought you’d be.”

Ingrid’s blush deepens, and she can see herself turning red in the mirror, which means Dorothea can as well. And she can see it, the twitch of Dorothea’s lips as she meets Ingrid’s eyes in the mirror. Too embarrassed now, Ingrid ducks her head, focusing instead on her task.

Dorothea’s hair is soft between her fingers even through her gauntlets; it is a little distracting. Ah, Ingrid should have taken off her gauntlets before she started, but it feels awkward to do that now, to bring attention to it. Still, she tries to be careful.

“How is knighthood treating you?” Dorothea asks.

Ingrid’s hands pause before she continues. “It feels like a dream, to be honest,” she says. “Everyday I wake up and I fear it is all just my imagination, but it isn’t, and… it feels amazing.”

“Is it everything you’ve talked about?”

Ingrid thinks of her knighting ceremony, when she had kneeled in front of Dimitri and swore herself to his service and his sword upon her head as he knighted her. She thinks of the assassin she had stopped once, reacting instinctively to the dagger thrown at Dimitri with her own sword, her blood pounding upon the realization that it would have impaled itself upon her head if she had not parried at the last second. She thinks of everything that’s happened so far…

And she wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

“Yes,” Ingrid answers simply.

“I’m glad, then,” Dorothea says. “You’re… different. I have to say that happiness is your best make-up.”

Ingrid looks up, but Dorothea’s expression is completely unreadable, and she’s ducking her head now, fiddling with something in her lap that Ingrid can’t see. Ingrid looks back down, returning to her task.

There’s something in the air between them. Ingrid isn’t sure what it is but she is… afraid. She’s afraid that she’ll misstep and lose all of her chances, afraid that she’s reading too much into this, afraid of how much she wants to spill all of herself to Dorothea in this moment. It is as if they are dancing together upon the same stage but not with each other.

Ingrid never was good at dancing.

Most of the pins in Dorothea’s hair are almost gone, and already she can see parts of Dorothea’s bun starting to fall. When she takes out the last of it, Dorothea’s hands immediately run through her hair, taking it all apart and letting her hair cascade down her back.

Then, Dorothea rises from her seat, and turns to her.

Ingrid steps back, swallowing slightly and wishing her mouth wasn’t dry. The years only add to Dorothea’s beauty. She remembers when they were at school, and how Ingrid had thought Dorothea was a beautiful girl then, and even five years later, Ingrid thinks Dorothea is peerless in both her beauty and kindness. And, now, she still thinks that way, seeing her here.

But she sees how different Dorothea is as well, and weariness that comes from living through war that all of them wear, that only they can tell. Ingrid had wished for Dorothea to come out unscathed, but…

“I never asked how you were,” Ingrid finally says.

A shadow flits across Dorothea’s eyes before it disappears just as quickly. “Busy,” she says. “Lots of work with the opera, now that we’re traveling around the continent. It’s a lot of changes.” Dorothea smiles.

“Is that so? Are you happy?” Ingrid swallows again. She can tell that Dorothea’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Well!” Dorothea’s smile changes to something else, something devious. “It’s been two years! Have you found anyone yet?”

… ah. Ingrid didn’t think they’d come to this.

“No,” she answers honestly, “there isn’t anyone.”

“Really?” Dorothea sounds disappointed, and Ingrid dislikes the sound, dislikes what it could mean. “I thought you’d have tons of suitors and admirers lining up for you.”

Ingrid’s brow furrows. “Really? Why would you think that?”

Dorothea laughs. “You know when I said I saw you up in the sky?” Her expression turns sly. “You’re a brave and stalwart knight, loyal and devoted, and so beautiful as well! I wasn’t the only one watching you, you know.”

Ingrid blushes, her mouth dropping open. “Are you—hah?” This hadn’t been what she was expecting, and this is the first time she’s hearing of it. Her? _Her?_

“So, I thought…” Something flashes across Dorothea’s expression, something that seems like regret. Before, Ingrid might have been oblivious and put it aside… but she’s done a lot of thinking and searching in the past few weeks. Her eyes flit down to Dorothea’s hand just for a split second.

No ring on her left hand.

Ah, wait, she just had to perform, what if she’s only just taken it off for the performance? She can’t trust that.

So Ingrid asks. “How about you? Are you still searching for someone?”

Dorothea takes a moment to answer. When she does, it’s not what Ingrid expects. “I’m… not sure.”

“No?” Ingrid’s surprised. “Is there—ah, someone right now?”

“I can’t say there is,” Dorothea says carefully. Ingrid swears she can feel her heart about to burst right out of her, swears that she thinks Dorothea can hear her own heartbeat right now.

But once again, her tongue is stuck. She wants to speak, and yet, she can’t. Ingrid has never been a person for hesitation, but words have always been harder for her to speak than actions.

Dorothea watches her for another moment before she comes closer. “I… I apologize that we could only meet so briefly, Ingrid, but it’s getting late. I should rest up for the performances tomorrow, and I have no doubt that you have your own things to do tomorrow as well.”

Dorothea hesitantly spreads her arms apart—oh, she wants a hug. Ingrid wraps her arms around Dorothea, but it all feels mechanical, like she’s a cog in a gear, and she knows Dorothea can tell how stiff she feels.

“Goodbye, Ingrid,” Dorothea says, and pulls back to walk past her—

And Ingrid thinks of that time that's been frozen in her mind, thinks back to that scene of two years ago when Dorothea had done the same exact thing, and thinks about how she wanted to reach out but couldn't find the courage to.

But Dorothea, even as she's walking away, is still in front of her.

So this time, Ingrid reaches out and catches her arm.

Dorothea slowly turns to her. Ingrid meets her gaze, keeps it steady.

“It… it isn’t that, well, no one has caught my eye, but… I think I’ve only figured out _who_ they were on this entire time.”

Ingrid watches the exact moment where Dorothea realizes what she’s saying, to when the exact moment where Ingrid’s words dawn on her and her eyes widen. Ingrid lets go of Dorothea’s hand, takes off her gauntlet and pulls her sleeve up.

“Oh! You still have that,” Dorothea says, disbelieving.

Ingrid glances down at the bangle. “Of course I do. It keeps me company when my nights are lonely,” she confesses. “And it was a gift from you, why would I throw it away?”

A flash of guilt comes to Dorothea’s eyes—ah, Ingrid recalls now from their school days, when she’d given Dorothea a ring for her aid, and Dorothea had given it to their professor.

… it _had_ stung a little, seeing Dorothea easily give away her gift of gratitude.

But that’s all in the past, she tells herself, and Dorothea is about to slip out of her grasp again if she’s not careful. “I’m sorry, though. I can’t believe that it took me this long to understand.”

“Oh… Ingrid. Am I understanding this right? Are… are you…” Dorothea shakes her head, as if she’s trying to wake herself up from a dream. It assuredly isn’t a dream, Ingrid wants to tell her, but that doesn’t sound like the right thing she should say. She’s not even sure of what she should say.

She raises a hand to her neck, pressing against the ring there. It’s a small habit she does, pretending that it’s Glenn giving her guidance like he always did. It feels like it’s burning on her skin. She’ll never be sure about her feelings for Glenn… but she’s absolutely sure about her feelings for Dorothea, and she lets that guide her forward.

“I made you wait all these years, Dorothea. I… I am merely a knight, and my house, while noble, is not wealthy… but…” and here, Ingrid kneels, placing a hand over her heart. “I have nothing else to offer to you but my… but my love. Will you still have me?”

Silence. Ingrid wants to look up, but she keeps her head down, still kneeling. The sound of her heartbeat is hammering loudly in her ears that it feels like it might be the loudest sounds in the room. Her legs are shaking, and when Dorothea takes a step, it sounds like an earthquake rumbling underneath.

There’s a touch on her head. Finally, Ingrid allows herself to look up, look up to see the tears falling from Dorothea’s eyes, look up to see the teary smile on her face. “Ingrid,” she breathes, bading for her to rise, and when Ingrid does, Dorothea throws her arms around her. “Yes,” she says right into Ingrid’s ear, and her words sound like music. “Yes, my dear Ingrid, of course!”

Ingrid catches her, eyes wide as her own arms come around Dorothea. She, well, she wasn’t expecting _this_, and… a small smile comes onto Ingrid’s lips as she allows herself to hold Dorothea closer, but the metal of her armor doesn’t make this comfortable. Oh, she really should have taken off her armor! But Dorothea doesn’t seem to mind, and Ingrid’s smile can only continue to grow.

Dorothea pulls away, and she still has tears, but, oh, there’s a wonderful genuine smile on her face now. When was the last time Ingrid has seen that? War stole away so many things from Dorothea including her smile. Ingrid’s all the more glad, then, that Dorothea can still find it in herself to smile like that.

Ingrid reaches out, taking Dorothea’s left hand with her bare one. Dorothea’s hand is warm against hers. “Perhaps I should have gotten you a gift,” she says. “Felix told me to get you a sword. And His Majesty as well.”

“Please don’t get me a sword,” Dorothea says, her expression torn between horrified and confused.

“... I had considered it, but I’m glad I didn’t.” Her thumb brushes over Dorothea’s bare knuckles. “I’m sorry that I don’t have another ring for you, though.” Or, well, Ingrid _does_ have a ring on her… but she thinks that she wants to get her own.

“A ring! Oh, Ingrid!” Dorothea says breathlessly with a laugh. Ingrid rather likes that sound, and likes how differently her name falls from Dorothea’s lips now. “That’s too soon, now. That’s better for the future, don’t you think?”

The future. The thought makes Ingrid laugh breathlessly. She looks at Dorothea, and her eyes are gleaming, her tears still shimmering. Ingrid brings Dorothea’s hand to her lips, pressing them against her finger as a promise. “Ingrid,” Dorothea whispers, “Oh, my dear Ingrid…” Her hand moves to Ingrid’s face, to the back of her neck, and for once, Ingrid understands right away.

When Dorothea leans in, Ingrid finally meets her halfway this time.


End file.
